Bloom

[Keira Priest]

Music

Ansion​

Schedristad​

​

For a long while she had sat with the opened package on the floor, its contents sitting on the table before her, staring her down reminiscent of some age-old adversary. The meaning behind the supposed gift would be lost on many, but to her the wide-brimmed white sunhat held all the weight of her past mistakes in its singular presence. In a way it was a symbol of the years she had wasted in service to a corrupt, doomed Republic, naively holding the belief that the democratic power had the greater good of the galaxy in mind. That was time she would never be able to get back, and the only consolation was that she had been one of those many to deal the final deathblow in that last battle on Kashyyyk. It was then the failed nation had finally wilted, giving in to all those that opposed it and collapsing with a final, shuddering breath.

Since then the galaxy had all but forgotten the Republic, only a few remembering it for what it had been and all that it had come to be before it fell. For Keira the past hadn't stayed quite as buried, and this here was the third time she had reconnected with a ghost from a history better left forgotten. Why this particular phantom had chosen the present moment to manifest was unknown to her, and for a few moments she had contemplated simply discarding the message entirely, leaving this grave unturned. But that had soon proven itself impossible, because for some reason she wanted this closure, and needed to know just what had become of all the pieces in the puzzle that was the demise of a once-great democracy. And here she had the orchestrator, the one individual that had crafted the ultimate beginning of the end.

Within the span of a few hours she had departed Dxun for Ansion, following the return address that had been so purposefully laid out for her. The planet itself was nondescript and unknown to her until that moment, the town in which the sender resided even more so. Eventually her impromptu trip led her to an apartment complex, and from there to a single door which was presently the only true barrier between herself and another she hadn't so much as lent a thought to in eight years, let alone imagined ever speaking with again. In her off hand she carried the hat, leaving her left free in case she needed to draw her pistol or take up her tomahawk, the only true weaponry she had bothered with, having discarded her armor in favor of more casual dress complete with the leather jacket almost always on her person.

Reaching up with her left hand she knocked on the door only once.

Here went nothing.

 

[Máiréad Vrána]

It had been weeks since she had dispatched that memento of hers--a generic gift of feminine fashion to some, but some others might recall its meaning with vivid clarity. And that was what she was banking on, barring her recipient's address having changed. She wasn't really sure if the last known location of that woman was accurate. She did move about a lot back in the day.

But the thing was practically off of her mind at the moment. She half expected the package to never be received by the correct individual, and half expected said individual to never show up even if she did receive the cryptic gift. Máiréad was simply going about her daily business, which had nothing at all in common with what she had done in her previous life. Surveying land--who would have guessed? But here she stood in a small flat, clad in a simple white blouse and a khaki wrapped skirt and fixing a bowl of blue milk and cereal like the most pedestrian of folks.

And so the knock at her door was an unusual event in her daily routine. In fact, it had been almost a month since she had heard that rapping sound against the sliding plasteel barrier. It was unusual enough that the raven-haired recluse retrieved a blade from inside her boot and brought it to bear within her clenching knuckles, fist pressed into her chest. Cautiously, she edged towards the entrance to her abode, peeking out each of the small windows to her apartment before pressing her eye to the periscope embedded into the door. She hadn't seen this character around her place before...

Máiréad tapped the lock to the door, letting it slide open to bathe her in sunlight that was only impeded by the figure before her. Familiarity suddenly dawned upon her like the sun, and she simply stood motionless, staring at the looming apparition of her past. She was here. Apparently she had received the gift.

The surveyor dropped her knife-wielding hand and let out the most silent of breaths, waiting, waiting... "Well... are you going to kill me?"

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

It was the sheer ordinariness of it all that caught her off guard initially. This was the last place anyone would have expected to find a woman of her former infamy, and if it wasn't for the blade in the hand of the host of this meeting then this would have perhaps been just any old exchange between past adversaries, if such a thing of the average variety existed. But because of that weapon and the headpiece, not to mention the simple fact of the two of them existing together in the same space for the first time in years, any shred of that normalcy was gone. The tension humming in the air may as well have been palpable, and in the silence of those first few seconds after the inquiry was put forth the galaxy itself seemed to hold its breath, all manner of possibilities made manifest now that the most obvious and likely motive had been presented.

However, for all the violent potential in that moment, her response was fairly subdued. Having finished her assessment of both the surrounding area and the woman that stood before her, Keira delivered a response that was simple and perhaps unexpected in its delivery. "No." That would have been far too kind of a fate, after all that had been done in her name. Much like the rest of those that had not only participated in but survived the coup, she would have to live with the weight of those days on her shoulders for the rest of her life. Oftentimes continued survival was the worst fate imaginable, and in that she could speak from experience. Death in this instance would be nothing short of a mercy, and it was that sort of grace that the one before her was the least deserving of.

No move was made for any sort of armament on her part, and she all but disregarded the weapon presently drawn with a casual air only those so experienced on the battlefield were capable of. With a gesture that was far too casual for the present circumstances she offered the sunhat to who she supposed at this point was her host, the offer just as symbolic as the delivering of it to her doorstep in the first place. Her head inclined slightly as she studied what she could see of the apartment, dark gaze eventually wandering back to the raven-haired woman who had called her here for no other purpose than presumably ending a life. Too many people had developed a habit of using her for just that, and she had long since tired of it. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

[member="Máiréad Vrána"]

 

[Máiréad Vrána]

In a way, she knew the woman would say that. There was an innate curiosity in nearly everyone--something that led people down wrong paths in the pursuit of the unpleasant truth. Keira wasn't interested in killing her. Not yet, anyway. She wanted answers; a form of closure to attempt an interpretation of one complex period in both of their lives. The returned hat reminded the Raven of it all, as if the object contained the memories within its weave. Her left hand accepted the floppy hat by its brim and nodded somberly, eyes glancing at the pistol and tomahawk dangling below the hem of her visitor's jacket. "I guess you're here."

She backed away from the door and walked towards the small kitchen table and its two chairs, laying the hat casually in the center while she tossed the knife haphazardly through the doorway of her bedroom. Máiréad pulled out one of the chairs and took her seat like a schoolgirl to her desk before class. Here she was in her pedestrian clothes. No fancy coats, no elegant trappings or designer sandals. She was essentially clad like a farmgirl--and might that be a surprise to her guest. The plain beige walls of her undecorated flat equally matched with the plain clothes. The bowl of cereal remained on the kitchen counter alongside the carafe of blue milk.

Settled into her seat, the ex-politician gazed listlessly before her at the haunting figure of her prior life. She didn't get many guests in the first place, much less former colleagues who had reason to be hellbent on avenging any number of things. Certainly not any lovers. So now what? "Did you want breakfast?"

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

Thus far the only thing this interaction was adding up to be was painfully casual, and it would have been evident to any outsider looking in that the two women were accustomed to anything but typical social mannerisms, each of their movements echoing some kind of restraint on both their parts. Situations like this, places like these, neither were where the both of them belonged in any capacity. They were two puzzle pieces trying to force their way in, and it was only barely working. Still, despite the awkwardness on both their parts Keira sat, leaning back in her chair, posture easy despite the fact that everything else about this was not. Ever since the coup she'd had millions of questions she'd wanted to ask the woman if ever given the chance, and now that it had been handed to her she was at a loss for words.

It was the hat that captured her attention for a time, as if that accessory held answers as opposed to more hardship. When she did move it was with a deliberately laid-back air, and she reached inside her jacket in order to produce a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, offering one of the coffin nails to the one across from her before taking one for herself and lighting it, inhaling deeply. When next she exhaled smoke accompanied, though she made certain to direct it away from current company. Still that silence persisted, and she never quite looked directly at the other woman, seeming to avoid the fact that she existed altogether. Rarely did she light up anymore, and when she did it was only in particularly stressful scenarios outside of the battlefield. That simple action alone spoke volumes, though she doubted its significance was noted.

There was another drag on the cigarette before she shifted in her seat, that movement seeming to provoke thought that was soon voiced aloud. "Why, after all these years? You'd think someone like you would know the value of keeping the past where it belongs."

[member="Máiréad Vrána"]

 

[Máiréad Vrána]

It felt like an eternity before the white plasteel door slid into place behind the other woman, sealing them both inside the undistinguished quarters of a previously distinguished individual. Her counterpart finally eased into her chair, nothing but an ordinary kitchen table for two separating them. Her murky brown eyes followed every trace movement of the other woman's fingers, observing the retrieval of the cigarette and the lighter; the suspiciously benevolent hand.

The Raven accepted the cigarette with lethargic fingers, her sluggish movements not so much cautious as they were resigned to the circumstances. She had led this ghost to her home, after all. But smokes were not her remedy. As soon as she had delicately wrapped her lips upon the cylindrical paper, it broke away and dropped into the valley of her skirt. Her fingers curled into a fist, lips twitching and breast rising abruptly. I need my wine...

Keira spoke up after offering enough silent tension. It had nothing to do with breakfast. But it was the obvious question, no doubt. Why, indeed? She stared at those accusing eyes for several moments, knowing she deserved every drop of confused ire pouring from her tongue. "You mean you don't see it?" She tried to play it cool, almost uncharacteristically so with a brashly offhand touch of humor as her voice rasped in a near whisper. "I'm living the good life."

Her neutral expression tore apart immediately, breast now heaving in and out in rapid pace as tears broke free from her stolid eyes, streaking like lost stars over her hardened cheeks. Máiréad stood up and rushed to her cabinet, haphazardly sweeping aside jars of preserves and digging in to pull out an unopened bottle of Chandrilan red wine. Without waste of time, the dark-haired exile impaled a screw into its top and plucked out the cork, then dipped her head back to drown in her poison.

When she was done with her generous first swig, she leaned against the wall and forced a smile through her sobs. "The frakkin' good life..."

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

There was no sense of remorse that exuded from her, no compassion or sympathy to be found in the stone wall of indifference behind her dark eyes. Keira owed nothing to the broken down woman before her, least of all any sort of comfort and soothing words that would take away the pain. Both had committed their share of horrible acts in the name of the Republic as the nation neared its downfall, but none other than the Raven herself could claim full responsibility for all that had been done. After the guilt and whirlwind of emotions she had suffered from the simple thought of all the blood on her hands from the coup, it was in its own twisted way a consolation to see the once proud Prime Minister humbled and brought low, and even if she wouldn't admit such aloud, the fact that she simply watched as the other drowned her sorrows in alcohol was enough.

Her only move was to inhale another cloud of toxic chemicals and let the smoke lazily dissipate into the air between parted lips, silently contemplating if any words were truly necessary to break the silence. There was really no reason to; she'd been brought here, after all. If anything, it was up to her acquaintance to continue the dialogue, though she was starting to see that there had been none planned in the first place. At the end of it all this had just been a suicide attempt that she supposed had been a definite guarantee up until the point that she had given the wrong answer to that first question. Now it was all becoming a reality, the fact that this pain would continue without recompense. There would be nothing to rescue her from her own mind, just as there had been nothing for Keira aside from the numerous vices she'd taken to throughout the years.

There came another drag, another exhale, yet the lack of any true conversation persisted. Finally, she supposed she should get around to saying something. Otherwise this was just a waste of her time. "I don't know what you want me to say, Gen. But I'm not going to do your work for you anymore." Reaching down she drew her pistol, placing it in the middle of the table and nodding towards the weapon. "If you want an end to it so badly, there's your out. Take it, or don't. I don't care. But stop wasting my time."

[member="Máiréad Vrána"]

 

[Máiréad Vrána]

She hung her head upon the mention of her name--her real one. Her hand trembled around the neck of her wine bottle as a sorrowful rain continued to pour from her rusted eyes. She hadn't even gotten around to brushing her hair properly yet, the messy tangle of bed hair adding to her pathetic appearance in this moment. "I did everything I could..." she choked, clasping her opposite hand around the bulk of the glass vessel to steady it.

Her breath caught for a moment, eyes glancing up to spy the movement of her former partner, gently pulling the pistol into view and laying it across the table. It would have been a fitting end, really. The desire was within her to be relieved of her misery in a proper way at the hands of someone she had perhaps hurt the most of all. Well, of anyone still alive. But when those fingers released their hold on the pistol grip, her eyes loosed a renewed surge of liquid agony and, gasping, the Raven hoisted the bottle to her lips again and let her body slip down until she arrived at the floor.

"Let me die, you queen!" Gen whimpered, coughing as she drenched her throat with more of her crimson medicine. It wasn't the first time she had called this woman by that name. Though, last time it had more of an ironic affection to it. Another swig. "I loved you. I'll never live again.

"Look at me now!" Her black locks ruffled against the wall as she tipped her head back once more to consume, trickles of blood red seeping out of her saturated mouth as her body fought to reject what her mind wanted to infect her every sensation. Perhaps she could actually bring herself to commit to the gun if she became intoxicated enough. Geneviève gasped as her hand finally brought the bottle to a retreat, and she wiped her chin of the excess fluids as she stared upwards.

The Raven finally quietened, tears still streaming but cries silenced. She sniffed, her stillness redeeming some form of composure. "What do you want to know?"

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

Music

It was a display Keira recognized, only because it had manifested within her at one time, though she didn't think she'd ever been this vocal with it. No, the most she had done was drink her problems away, and those the liquor couldn't disappear were remedied through other, more violent means. It was cigarettes that had become more her vice as the alcohol released its hold on her, but even that had faded unless particular circumstances called for it. In contrast the other woman had become entirely devoted to her addiction, though to her credit had done a better job of disguising up until this point than she ever had in her younger years. Regardless, alcoholism was all the same, and it was evident that the claws had already sunk in, no matter if the once proud politician recognized it or not.

"Stop making a scene. You're not doing yourself any favors by acting like this. It won't change anything." While her voice was quiet it was equally forceful, and her brow knitted together as she shifted in her seat, leaning back and allowing the pistol to remain in the open, the unspoken offer still present. The cigarette was brought to her lips again, the pull she took lasting longer this time, the smoke held in her lungs for just a few more moments before it was released into the air. "I told you, I'm not going to kill you. You've had people doing your dirty work for too long. If you want it that badly, I'm sure you'll find a way. You do know how to pull a trigger." There was nothing provocative about the way she spoke, none of it intended to dig at and get a rise out of the other woman. She was simply stating facts, and it was refreshing to be able to speak freely.

A flick of her finger knocked ash from the tip of her cigarette onto the table, though she didn't seem to notice or care entirely too much. "What I want to know is why you thought this would be a good idea in the first place, because it doesn't seem to me that you were looking to gain anything except a bullet in the head, which I refuse to deliver. I don't care about the coup, or any of that. What's done is done. But why did you decide to show your face after all these years? What were you really hoping to find in me?"

[member="Máiréad Vrána"]

 

[Máiréad Vrána]

Geneviève shook her head slowly, internally furious that this woman would accuse her of melodramatics, yet her sedated disposition conveyed a genuine defeat about her. She had no ground, nor weapon--be it tangible or otherwise--nor cognizance to rebuke the words that pierced into her very soul. For a moment, she merely stared blankly into--or perhaps through--the eyes of her visitor, swallowing every morsel of guilt and despair she was force-fed. "You think I haven't lived with this?"

Another sorrowful gulp of red toxin rushed into her sputtering mouth, the bottle almost empty already. Neither of them had ever been anything but obstinate to say the least. And yet here they were, playing tug-o-war with invisible anchors that still tied them together in spite of years of intentional, cowardly separation. But she finally had made a move, and likewise Keira had followed up on her cue. Not bad for a last executive order.

She turned the question back around. Maybe they both knew the answer within their hearts--or what was left of those hearts. "Why did you come?" Gen wheezed. Shadows swept across her eyelids, alcohol infecting her optics and bidding her succumb to its slumbering clutches. She was stubbornly strong, though. She had always resisted, no matter the cause. "You care. You cared. You did care! You did care!"

The Raven raised her hands in protest, releasing her grasp on the neck of her bottle. The sharp clatter of glass rang out, the greater portion of the vessel still intact, but a gaping chip freed from its bottom and draining what was left of its crimson fluid onto the floor and the former politician's khaki skirt. Her head lolled to the side, nearly blacking out in that moment before her arms fell in final surrender and the blood rushed back to her cheeks. "I..." Gen sniveled, coaxing the words out of her between bursts of burning tears. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry.

"I'm so sorry..."

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

"You're sorry?" There was no point in staying the bitterness of her words, and so Keira didn't bother, the edges of her laugh sharply cynical. "Yeah, I'm sorry too, Gen. Sorry that I thought you were different than the rest of them, sorry that I thought it'd be any different, pledging myself to your cause. Sorry that I ever thought I loved you. But that doesn't do either of us any good now, does it?" She took another drag of the cigarette, breathing out smoke in a sigh. Reaching forward she stubbed it out on the table, that minuscule amount of property damage nothing in comparison to what had already been done.

Calloused fingers brushed hair away from her face, dark eyes steadily watching her counterpart. "I don't think you've lived with it enough. You're forgetting that I know your kind. Up until now you've justified everything with yourself, because as long as what you did gained something in your eyes, it was worth it. Except you're starting to realize that the coup didn't change anything, because the Republic still fell, and everyone still hates it and the women that brought it to its knees." There was no point in excluding herself from the equation, as she knew full well just what part she'd played in the downfall, from marching on the temple to taking part in that final battle on Kashyyyk, when she'd finally come to her senses.

"I don't want your apologies, or your explanations as to why you did what you did. I want to know why you bothered with everything now, after all this time. Because to me it seems like you're just prolonging the inevitable." The pistol was once again taken up, though instead of holstering it she chambered a single round, releasing the magazine and pocketing it. With an audible click the safety was disengaged, and this time she held out the pistol in offering one final time. "You either kill yourself or try to shoot me. Either way, you'll get what you asked for.

"Surprise me."

[member="Máiréad Vrána"]

 

[Máiréad Vrána]

Gen hung her head in shame, arms flailing limply to rest atop her splayed legs. "I know. I know..." the drunk woman repeatedly muttered, still cognizant but hardly physically coordinated at this point. She had no defense; no pleas for mercy. She had wasted their life together and she knew it was no one's fault but her own. There were a multitude of sins she had committed that she still held no regrets about and defied her consequences even as she chained herself to the floor. But every breath without this woman at her side filled her with remorse. "I know..." Keira had every right to kick her face in both verbally and physically.

The acidic words of bitter honesty ate through her brain for a lingering minute, her guilt verified and granting no reprieve. There was nothing new or previously unconsidered in what Keira had said--things that kept her up at night. But it hurt more to hear it in that voice and to note their aged faces and all the years that could have been together. "I know you're right. I know," Geneviève confessed, her voice relegated to a hoarse whisper amidst her crying. "I might never change to you. I have changed, but I might still do it all again. Maybe not. But you see me now, don't you? You see me here?"

Finally, the fallen Minister made the effort to leverage herself off the floor, fumbling about on her hands and knees pathetically until she could manage to pull herself up and balance against the table. Her severely dilated pupils gazed emptily into Keira's eyes, and her body cut forward to advance nearer to her ex. Lunging at her shoulders, Gen gracelessly caught Keira around the neck with both arms and leaned into her for support.

Quivering, she whispered into the woman's ear, "I love you," then sank back just enough to place a tender kiss upon Keira's cheek. Having imparted the last of her affections upon the apparition of her lover, she loosened her left arm and tugged at the hand holding the gun. Shaking, she dropped to her knees and wrapped her fingers about the grip; against the trigger. Her right hand dragged off of Keira's shoulder afterwards and began adjusting her guest's fingers against her own, finally placing Keira's index finger against the back of her own.

She aimed the barrel of the weapon at her own temple and bade her ghost to grant one last favor. She didn't deserve it, but she needed to know--even if it was the last thing she'd ever know. "So now let me go if you love me too."

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

In comparison to the tangled mess of limbs and hurriedly declared 'I love you's' that encompassed their previous shared time together, her response to this sluggish, clumsy display of affection was to simply remain where she sat. No move was made to push the other woman away, even when those alcohol-infused and long since damned three words were spoken, and that kiss was pressed against her cheek. Nothing but a tautening of her jaw would speak to her feelings on the matter, as the time for such puppy love was in the distant past, before each had realized just what the other was. Here and now was absolution by the only means either of them had ever really known: quiet condemnation followed by a bullet to the head.

When the pistol was finally loosed from her grasp nothing about her expression changed, and she merely looked on with the same stoicism for those few moments, her hand around Gen's in perhaps the most truly intimate embrace they had ever shared. This wouldn't be the first time she had looked into another's eyes before ending their life, and for once she could say that doing so was entirely justified. This was one person who genuinely deserved all they had coming to them and more, and it was the one death she could usher in without concern as to the consequences, as those were too far in the past to really matter anymore. This was a matter that only concerned the two of them and perhaps had only encompassed them in the first place.

With a quiet exhale her eyes slid shut, her finger tensing just slightly but not coming down. A resigned sigh passed her lips as she stood, shaking her head with a humorless smile, fishing in the pockets of her jacket for another cigarette that she promptly lit, acrid smoke once more tainting the air already poisoned by their words.

"I told you, I'm not doing your dirty work for you anymore. Now pull the goddamn trigger."

[member="Máiréad Vrána"]

 

[Máiréad Vrána]

Her eyes lost their glittery glaze from her tears and sorrow as her old friend so nonchalantly ignored her plea and callously gazed at her past the smoke cloud. So it was all lost. No mercy. No just ending. Not even a farewell. And Keira wanted her to deliver? The little girl inside Geneviève wailed and pounded at her cage. It was time for her to break free. The timid little girl corrupted by the blood on her hands. Insanity.

"Did you ever love me?" Gen rasped, the clattering of the firearm in her unsteady hand evident. It dropped from her temple, and she drunkenly aimed it at the bottom left quarter of her specter's torso. The gun bucked with the deafening thunder of all that hell could loose and knocked the embittered woman off her knees and onto her back.

"All I wanted was for someone to be proud of me!" she shrieked from the floor, scraping her hand about until she grasped the shard that had previously broken from her wine bottle. Her fingers clamped unremittingly around the dashed slice of glass and dripped crimson from between her carpals. "I hope this makes you proud!" With no hesitation, Geneviève savagely thrust the angular splinter into her own abdomen repeatedly, inciting a rush of blood reminiscent of the spilled wine. She wept profusely with what remained from her reservoir of tears that she had locked up for decades, convulsing with each wild stab in wretched mania.

Whatever trace fragment of her heart that remained had at last been truly broken. All that was left of the Raven lay thrashing pitifully in a silent river of blood and wine. A neglected and vengeful girl in a grown woman's body.

[member="Keira Ticon"]

 

[Keira Priest]

The flash of the muzzle and the crack of a gunshot were the final things Keira registered, and for a moment it seemed as if nothing had come of it. Then all at once crimson blossomed across her left side, the agony that followed nearly bringing her to her knees and causing her to lean up against the wall as her breathing hitched, becoming more shallow. A shaking hand reached down to probe the severity of the wound, and she cursed quietly as it came away painted crimson. With one arm braced against the wall she forced herself to stand, the muscles of her jaw taut as a short cry of pain escaped her, bitten off by a grinding of her teeth.

Each step she took was agonizingly slow as she shuffled over to where that ghost of her past lay, her life bleeding out across the tile just as the wine had through the cracks of that front porch so long ago. With a careful slowness unlike herself she knelt to pick up the pistol, unsteady, clammy hands finding little purchase on the grip as she barely managed to holster it. Again she stood, loosing a stream of obscenities as a fresh wave of pain surged throughout her abdomen. Finally she bothered to look down at the other woman, taking her in for all that she was at the present moment.

No move was made to chamber another round and bring a swift end to things, and no goodbye was spoken as she turned to take her final leave. She didn't so much as look back as she stepped through the doorway, sinking to the ground just outside. From the pocket of her jacket she produced a commlink, thumbing the button to activate it and reporting the shooting in a voice hoarse with pain. A single word passed her lips in something just short of a whisper as she looked down at her bloodstained hands, considering for once the entire depth of all that had happened here. "Liar."

[member="Máiréad Vrána"]